“Done.”
We both giggle. I have no idea what I would hire her for. Once word gets out that she's dating Ethan, no one will let her sneak into bars and get information. They'll all be too busy being polite so Ethan doesn't beat them to a pulp.
“That means she probably doesn't have anything on my mom, though.” I feel a little sad. I had seriously considered her offer of information for at least a couple of seconds. Even if I didn't take it, I still liked the idea that there was proof out there that my mother's death wasn't an accident.
“It's pretty well known that the Savio sister's death is something you all have a soft spot for. Your uncle's apparently spent a fortune trying to prove Norwood had something to do with it, but the guys so slippery nothing sticks. It's not for lack of trying. Norwood just has intimidation and longstanding relationships with the police department on his side.”
“Norwood has a lot of things on his side.” I carefully touch one of the many healing bruises.
Sara looks at me, her eyes concerned. “You going to be okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. At least I know what's going on with Victoria Russo now. Thank you for that.”
She shrugs like it's nothing, but I can see the small proud smile.
“Breakfast is my treat,” I tell her.
She grins. “See? I knew I'd get paid back for it.”
Just then the waitress brings my pancakes and Sara's eggs. Her eggs make my stomach roll a little, so I just focus on my pancakes. My mind goes a million miles a minute as I digest what I just learned.
I know I can use this. I just have to figure out how.
Chapter 24
I walk slowly up the stairs to my apartment after lunch. I had hoped that seeing Sara would make me feel more like myself, but it had only partially worked. Just because I knew what was motivating Victoria Russo didn't mean that she wasn't still dangerous.
She was a woman fighting for her lavish lifestyle and I was in the way. I needed to come up with a plan. I needed to call a doctor. I needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do with Norwood in town. I like having my panic button, but that's a band aide. I need a solution.
At least she got me answers, I think as I open my apartment door. I shrug and turn to lock it behind me. There's a sticky note taped to the inside lock with just two words written on it.
Good Girl.
I know that handwriting. The loop on the G is forever burned into my memory from long ago. Panic wells up from the acid pit of my stomach and I bite down a scream.
John Norwood was in my home. My sanctuary. My greatest tormentor was in my most safe plac
e. He was here.
I go to the bedroom and strip the bed, putting the sheets in the washing machine with the hottest water I can set. I don't know what else he's touched in my house, but I have to get anything that might have even the smallest trace of him out of my life. I go to the closet and start ripping everything down and stuffing what I can in the washing machine with the sheets and throwing everything else in the tub to hand wash.
My hands shake as I search for the bleach under the kitchen sink and start scrubbing every non-porous surface I can find. I don't want even his fingerprints in my house.
Terror is making me sweat. All the progress I've made, all the strength I've accumulated the last ten years is gone. He stole it from me like he stole my youth. I can't get away from him, no matter how hard I try. There is no escape from him. He was in my house!
The phone rings. I don't want to answer it, but I know if it is Mr. Norwood he'll be even angrier with me if I don't. I don't dare miss his call for fear of what he'll do to me. Or Dante.
“Hello?” I'm far too proud that my voice doesn't shake.
“Cara,” a familiar female voice greets me. It's not him. It's Dante's mother. I can breathe again.
“Hello, Mrs. Russo.” The fact that I'm relieved to be talking to her is frightening.
“I was hoping you could join me for lunch tomorrow.” The tone of her voice makes it clear this isn't really a request. “I was thinking of bringing Mr. Norwood to join us. I thought he would like a reunion with you.”
Irritation overrides my good sense. I don't have time for her games. Not today. “You do that,” I say, growing defiant. She obviously doesn't know how dangerous he is.
“You think I'm bluffing, Cara?” Anger ripples through the phone. “I want you away from my son. You are meddling in a world you don't understand and the implications of your actions are far over your head. You have no inkling of what a mess you have caused.”